


no place like home

by ShowMeAHero



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Early Mornings, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Kissing, M/M, Sunrises, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28780938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: “Anything else?” she asks, ringing up his coffees. Theding, ding-ding, ding, dingof the register’s buttons wakes Han up a little bit more.“Yeah,” he says, “I’ll have a pack of, uhh… Whatever’s cheapest.” He taps his blunt nails on the vinyl countertop. “And do you have those little, like— Those little cards kids give each other?”“Like, the little folding ones?” she asks him. “You realize thattodayis—”“Yeah, I’m aware."
Relationships: Luke Skywalker/Han Solo
Comments: 8
Kudos: 100





	no place like home

**Author's Note:**

> tender valentine's day morning kisses for tender men

Han doesn’t have a good reason why he’s up before the sun is.

When he set his alarm the night before for four in the morning, he’d thought it was such a  _ great  _ idea, such a stupidly  _ romantic  _ idea, of  _ course  _ he’d get up for it.

Now, it actually  _ is  _ four in the morning. The moon is still sliding towards the horizon; the sky is dark, baked only slightly orange at the rim by streetlights and the haze of the city’s tail lights. Han’s motorcycle is in the hands of the gas station attendant outside, getting filled up. From his vantage point inside, Han can still see the silver behemoth planted beside pump two. He lets it fall out of his gaze, for a moment, so he can fill the paper cup in his hand with black coffee. The second paper cup gets coffee, too, but sugar and creamer more than anything; it’s white but the time he finishes stirring it, licking the little cardboard stirrer with a swipe flat against his tongue.

“Hey,” the girl behind the register says, when Han sets the coffees on the counter.

“Morning,” Han replies. His hazy mind clicks, and he takes a step back, surveying the options on display beneath the counter. After a moment, he picks out a plastic-wrapped roll of tiny powdered donettes. They crinkle when he tosses them on the counter next to the coffee.

“Anything else?” she asks, ringing up his coffees. The  _ ding, ding-ding, ding, ding _ of the register’s buttons wakes Han up a little bit more.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’ll have a pack of, uhh… Whatever’s cheapest.” He taps his blunt nails on the vinyl countertop. “And do you have those little, like— Those little cards kids give each other?”

“Like, the little folding ones?” she asks him. “You realize that  _ today  _ is—”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” Han cuts her off, early-morning patience already wearing thin. “Do you have any left or don’t you?”

Her eyes flick over him for a moment before she pushes away from the counter. It’s clear her patience with him is even thinner. “Gimme a sec, I’ll look.”

“Thanks,” he says. She strolls down one of the few aisles while Han picks up his black coffee, taking a long gulp from it. She vanishes into the back, for a moment, before coming back out with a pink dented cardboard box.

“You’re in luck,” she tells him, shaking the box so the little cardboard pieces inside rattle. “Got one left.”

_ “Perfect,” _ he says. “Listen, thanks, I’m sorry about—”

“Don’t mention it,” she says. “It’s late.”

“It’s early,” he counters. She taps the screen of her phone to light up the time, then whistles.

“Damn right it is,” she says. “What’s your pump?”

“Two,” he tells her. She rings up his gas and his spoils while he chugs most of his black coffee.

“Total’s on the screen,” she says.

“Got a pen?” he asks, handing over the cash. She gives him his change and a little cheap blue pen.

“Keep it,” she says. “Have a good one.”

Han finishes the last of his coffee, trashes the cup, and says, “You, too,” before taking his shit back out to his motorcycle. He leads the thing off to the side, for a second, near the grass edge of the station’s property. It puts him sufficiently out of the way so he can pry open the cardboard box of cards.

Each of the little cards inside is like a tiny sparkly time capsule. They shine with ancient glitter, still clinging to the stiff paper cards in heart-shapes and red messages. With the cap of the pen between his teeth, Han signs each of the stupid tiny things, filling out the  **_to:_ ** and the  **_from:_ ** parts on a dozen of them. He crams them all into his inside pockets with the donettes and his cigarettes; the cardboard box goes in the trash bin, and the coffee cup stays balanced in one hand.

The apartment Luke and Leia share is in a building not far from the gas station Han stopped at. He’s ridden his motorcycle long enough that  _ he  _ knows he’s fine to drive and hold the cup, but he’s just hoping he doesn’t get pulled over on the way.

Outside of Luke’s building, the parking lot is silent. The moon is gone, now, but the sun has hit the edges of the sky and started to creep its way upwards. All around is a buttery yellow-and-pink glow, smeared light on everything. Han knows Luke will like it, but, right now, it just makes him feel exhausted.

Han presses the buzzer for Luke and Leia’s apartment. There’s a long beat of silence; it goes on long enough that Han presses the buzzer button again, leaning on it for a moment. After he pulls away, the intercom crackles to life.

“Yeah?” comes Luke’s groggy voice. Han can hear him yawn; he must just be holding the button down. “What’s up?”

“It’s me,” Han says. “Wanna come down? I can give you a ride to work.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Luke replies, sounding noticeably more awake. “I was just gonna make myself some coffee, if you want some.”

“No need,” Han says.

_ “Han,” _ Luke groans through the intercom. The noise makes heat flash down Han’s spine. “I love you,  _ thank  _ you. I’ll put my shoes on and be down in a second.”

Han pushes away from the front door to head back for his motorcycle. Luke said he’d be down in a second, but it’s Luke, and Han grips his coffee cup to keep his hands warm for the six minutes it takes Luke to make his way to the lot.

When Han hears the building’s front door click open, though, his heart flies up into his mouth. He turns and Luke is there, all but tripping down the steps, bag slung over his shoulder. Han holds out his coffee to him, and Luke jogs the rest of the way to him to take it. He wriggles himself underneath Han’s arm in the process.

“What’re you doing here so early?” Luke asks, half-garbled by coffee before he swallows. “I thought we had plans tonight.”

“I just thought you might like something hot,” Han tells him. Luke rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling all the same, his face going pink. “Plus, the coffee—”

_ “There _ it is,” Luke says. Han reaches inside his jacket and pulls out the stack of folded-up little cards with his free hand. He can feel Luke’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t actually look at him until he’s got them all together.

“I brought you something,” Han tells him.

“I can see that,” Luke replies. “What is it?”

Han hesitates, just for a moment. In that instant, he briefly panics, concerned that he’s done something weird or over-the-top or something that will make Luke  _ laugh,  _ horror of horrors.

“Alright, here, gimme,” Luke says, when Han doesn’t hand them over. He finds himself holding Luke’s coffee again as Luke takes the stack of valentines and starts reading through them.

Luke doesn’t laugh. It seems like that’s better, until Luke is reading the fifth valentine and Han starts wishing that Luke would say  _ anything,  _ even if it  _ was  _ to laugh at him.

It’s around the ninth valentine that Han says, “You gotta say something, Luke, or else my heart’s gonna explode.”

“Your heart’s going to explode because you don’t take care of yourself,” Luke replies. He reads the tenth valentine with a grin wide enough to burst, though. When he looks up at Han, his blue eyes shine. The morning smear of the sky still casts that yellow-pink light, and it seems like it’s making Luke glow, and Han doesn’t feel so tired by it, anymore. This light makes him feel  _ alive. _

“Do you like ‘em?” Han asks. “I know they’re not much. And I still got something for you tonight, don’t you worry.” Han gives Luke his coffee back so his hands are free to slide down Luke’s sides and over his hips; he grips him tight there, pulling Luke in close until their hips are flush. Luke laughs, maneuvering one arm up and out so he can hold his coffee away from their bodies. The new angle exposes the side of his throat, and Han noses into the crook of his shoulder and neck.

“It is  _ six in the morning,” _ Luke breathes, the cybernetic fingers of his prosthetic hand clenching tight in Han’s leather jacket. “People could  _ see.” _

“Who the hell’s gonna see?” Han asks. His voice is low, buried in Luke’s warm skin.

“Han,” Luke breathes. Han bites lightly into his throat, and Luke exhales all at once, a gust of air over Han’s temple. It’s all Han can do to push in closer and kiss his way up to the space behind Luke’s ear.

“I don’t want you to be late for work,” Han says. Luke huffs a laugh, and they separate. There’s a moment where Luke glances down at the pavement beneath their feet; Han can see the calculation behind his eyes for a moment before he decides the ground is dry enough to sit on. It’s an ongoing journey for him to stop Luke from sitting in the dirt and eating food off the ground and other feral little  _ Luke  _ things that he does regularly.

A hand makes its way into Han’s, tugging sharply at him. When Han looks down, Luke’s face is already turned up towards his expectantly, smiling.

“Wanna sit?” Luke asks. Han sighs, because it’s part of the bit, but he sits beside him on the pavement anyways. He spreads his arm across Luke’s shoulders, and Luke melts into his side. Quietly, softly, Luke sips his coffee, staring up at the sky above the treeline at the edge of the parking lot. It’s blending from dark purples into blossoming pinks and the golden glow of the sun, but Luke’s better-looking than all of it. Han finds himself staring at him instead.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Han tells him in a low voice. He presses a kiss to the crown of Luke’s head. Luke cranes backwards to smile up at him.

“Don’t waste all your emotional energy on me now,” Luke says. “Save some for tonight.”

Han kisses his forehead, then tips his face up by the chin to kiss him on the lips.

“Trust me,” Han says, “I’ll keep  _ plenty  _ of energy for tonight.”

Luke sighs and falls back into him again. He sips his coffee and starts reading through his valentines again. Han, for his part, keeps an eye on the time to make sure Luke’s not late for work.

Before he can alert Luke that it’s about to be too late to leave, Luke seems to realize it himself. He shifts, looking back to Han. “You’re gonna give me a ride in?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Han asks. “What kind of a boyfriend would I be if I didn’t give you a ride to work on Valentine’s Day?”

“A shitty one,” Luke asks. He climbs out of Han’s arms and offers him a hand to stand. Luke’s helmet is hanging off the strap of his bag, and he removes it to affix on his head.

Han would be lying if he said that offering Luke a ride is an entirely selfless act. He enjoys the way Luke wraps around him; the way that Luke skims his arms and hands under Han’s clothes to cling tight, the way he keeps his chest flush to Han’s back — it’s all thrillingly overwhelming, every time. Every little shuffle of Luke’s body while they’re flying down the road on his motorcycle is  _ exhilarating. _

They’re supposed to have drinks and dinner tonight, and Han’s going to take Luke back to his place after and offer him a key and see if sticking around a little bit longer is something Luke might be interested in. The thought of it makes his heart pound, but the thought of Luke makes his heart pound. It’s terrifying, but Han kind of loves it. Him. All of it.

Han takes a slow curve, sending them drifting to the side. As they list, Luke’s grip on him tightens, hands spreading across Han’s chest and digging in.

“Hang on tight,” Han warns him.

Luke scoots in closer, as close as he can get, holding tight, tighter, until they’re inextricable. When they pull up out of the curve, Luke laughs, pressing his cheek to Han’s back. That laugh makes Han press faster, harder. The sun’s still rising, and there’s a whole day ahead, and a whole magnificent night, and Han’s got so many more of them left to come. For the first time, he thinks, that doesn’t actually terrify him. For the first time, it might just really thrill him.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) comment to chat with me, or talk with me about this fic on Twitter at [@nicole__mello](https://twitter.com/nicole__mello) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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